Pull of the Abyss
by Miri1984
Summary: Sequel to Blood Wound. Alim Surana needs to deal with the aftermath of the dark ritual, with the help of Zevran Aranai, his until now missing lover. Anders has been left in charge of the wardens and is doing less than well with the aftermath. Set between the end of Awakenings and the Beginning of Dragon Age 2.
1. I think you're just being rude

Alim supposed he might quite like Antiva, if he ever got to see any of it. Within a week of arriving in Antiva city he had ostensibly been taken on a tour of the city, been to visit no fewer than twenty separate nobles, seen the queen, the princes, the city guard and the mage tower (that had been fun!) but he had not seen a single elf who wasn't a servant, or had the opportunity to hire any assassins _at all._

The palace had tried to assign him bodyguards but Alim had sent them back with a _diplomatically _worded note saying that templars weren't his favourite people to have standing outside his bedroom door at night (in any case, Alistair had assigned him two guards of his own that were perfectly capable of smiting him if he got himself possessed). Since then his relationship with the other nobles had been… less than cordial.

His duties seemed mainly to ask people for money. The Blight had left Ferelden dangerously short on funds, and Alistair's list (or his wife's list, if Alim was going to be more honest) of things he'd like the Antivans to give him was fairly long. The Antivans seemed delighted to find different ways to say no to his requests.

He was very very close to slitting his wrists and calling down a rage demon to destroy them all. Not that he would, of course. He was good these days. Well behaved. Hardly ever tempted. Mostly never.

Today it was a garden party. Naturally. Alim pulled at the high collar on his doublet, sweating in the stifling summer heat, and wondered how the Antivan ladies stood it. Their gowns were less elaborate than some of the things he'd seen Ferelden noblewomen wear, but there were way too many layers.

Vincentio DiCiantis was approaching him and Alim put on his best diplomatic face, smiling as he sipped at the cold white wine they had been decent enough to provide for the occasion. DiCiantis and he had had an unfortunate incident on Alim's first day, when he'd been foolish enough to be talked into using some of his rudimentary Antivan at a trade negotiation.

It turned out that a lot of the phrases Zev had taught him were more colourful than most Antivan nobility used. In public at least.

"DiCiantis," he said, inclining his head. "A pleasure."

"Indeed, I am hoping it will be so Councillor Surana."

Alim's eyes narrowed. DiCiantis was a handsome man, in his way, greying at his temples, with a neatly trimmed beard that hid what Alim suspected was a weak jaw, but he was arrogant and irritating and Alim's misstep had been largely met with amusement from the Prince and his advisors. "Pay no attention to him," Cassimo had said, waved a jeweled hand, "he does it because he is not noble and wishes to be. He pretends offense when there is none."

Alim wasn't too sure this was the case. He privately believed Prince Cassimo was an idiot and DiCiantis controlled far more of the city and its revenues than ten generations of Antivan royalty had done, but the forms had to be obeyed, no matter how he might chafe at them.

DiCiantis had maneuvered them into a corner that was shielded from the rest of the party, large cyprus trees and hedges surrounding sweet smelling honeysuckle bushes — so strong they were almost cloying. Alim's fingers twitched as he suddenly realised his Ferelden bodyguards were nowhere to be seen.

"I was actually hoping to have a word,"Alim said, tentatively touching at the fade with his senses. It had been a few weeks since he'd used his magic. Not since working to heal the wounded at Amaranthine and the Vigil after the darkspawn battle. He pulled a small amount of rejuvenation into himself, letting it tingle through his senses and sharpen his awareness. "To make another apology for…"

DiCiantis waved a hand irritably. "Do not concern yourself with your failure of etiquette," he said, and his words were clipped and harsh. "I know you meant well. It is not your fault you were taught Antivan by a gutter-elf whoreson with no grace."

Alim blinked. "You've met Zevran then?" he said.

"It's hard to imagine any elf able to master the intricacies of court Antivan," DiCiantis went on. Alim straightened and swallowed.

"Oh, now, really I think you're just being rude…."

"_Rude _is sending a common elf-mage to our proud city and expecting him to have any influence with the Prince or the merchants," DiCiantis stepped closer and Alim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _"Rude _is a Ferelden bastard pretender thinking he can claim tribute for doing nothing more than waving a sword at an archdemon…"

"Actually _I _was the one who did that…"

"_Rude _is…." whatever DiCiantis was about to say next was cut off by a gurgle and a thump from directly behind him. Blinking, Alim stretched up on tiptoe to look over the merchant's shoulder, to see a small elf man crumpled in a heap on the ground, blood pooling from a slashed throat.

"My dear DiCiantis," a sibilant voice came from the hooded figure who had, Alim presumed, been the one to slit the throat of the would-be assassin, "rude is attempting to assassinate a foreign dignity with," the figure nudged the recently-become-corpse with one toe, "unskilled labour."

"Zevran Aranai," Alim said. "About time you bloody showed up."

The figure pushed back his hood to reveal a familiar and beloved face. His cheeks were a little hollower than Alim remembered, and there were circles under his eyes and there even a few silver streaks in the golden hair, but the smile was the same, and Alim was close to icing DiCiantis to the spot so he could properly chastise the man for his long absence.

"My apologies, dear warden. I was… detained."

"Yes, well, we'll talk about that later. In the meantime I think DiCiantis here had something to say about giving funds to Ferelden in order to aid in its reconstruction? We _did _stop the blight." Alim folded his hands over his chest and tapped one foot.

DiCiantis laughed. "You truly believe I would send only one assassin? Ferelden _knife eared pig _I am not so stupid."

Zevran was idly cleaning the blood off his blade. "Oh, my dear fellow, how remiss of me. There were two others in your chambers — I trust your maids will be able to deal with the bloodstains on your carpet. And the archer on the roof has met with an unfortunate accident — an over enthusiastic gargoyle. Through the head." DiCiantis' smile froze on his face. "And you'll be happy to hear that the crows have refused this contract twice before now, to have pursued it despite their injunction against harming the warden — the Hero of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine and personal friend of the First Warden — well this will not down well with them, I think? Although I _have_ saved them the trouble of dealing with your non-guild hirelings. Unless there were more? Ah, I see from your face there were not. Not to worry. I have informed the Crows of your little operation, anonymously of course, and I suspect a contract on your own life will be rapidly forthcoming."

"They will catch up with you as surely as I, Zevran," DiCiantis said, but he was backing away now.

"Oh believe me, my dear DiCiantis, they already have. A mutually unpleasant experience to be sure, although so far it has resulted in more crow corpses than Zevran shaped ones."

"Go away DiCiantis," Alim said. "And think about writing a letter of credit to Alistair. Perhaps he can offer you a safe haven from the Crows in Denerim. There are a few buildings that aren't piles of rubble there. You might like it."

DiCiantis opened his mouth to reply, but Zevran shoved him back towards the party. DiCiantis looked like he was going to hit the elf for a moment, but Alim chose that moment to let his hands light up with lightning and he wisely changed his mind.

Once the merchant was gone, they were alone. Well, alone apart from rapidly cooling corpse on the ground in front of them.

"Should I burn that?" Alim said.

Zevran tutted. "By no means, dear warden. This is Antiva. Corpses are commonplace."

"You won't…" Alim took a step closer… "get in trouble for it?"

Zevran smiled, but there was a definite edge to it. "I defended you from an assassin, amora, and you quibble about corpses?"

"I just…"

"Come now, I had anticipated a more pleasant reunion."

"You stood me up."

"I was being interrogated by crows at the time. Some rather interesting scars…"

"Ever heard of writing a letter?"

"Any correspondence I sent would surely have given away my location, not to mention putting you in danger…."

"I've been in Antiva for two sodding _weeks…"_

"I've been attempting to stop you from being assassinated!"

They had been inching closer to each other with every word, and with the last shout Alim reached out a hand (still crackling with lightning) and grabbed Zevran's chin.

"Ouch, amora that…"

Alim kissed him. Very thoroughly, sinking in the feel of familiar lips, hands on his back, a familiar body that was nonetheless a little leaner than he recalled and it felt so, so good that he almost forgot that he was _extremely cross _with the elf he was currently snogging and bit him.

"Alim you are vexed with me," Zevran said, touching the spot of blood that bloomed although his voice was breathless and his eyes were shining.

"You think?" Alim said, then shot his erstwhile lover with a sleep spell and enhanced his strength to catch the elf when he fell.

"Councillor!" one of the Prince's lackey's approached him as he walked through the garden back towards his carriage with an unconscious Zevran slung over his shoulder.

"Busy, sorry mate," Alim said. "Tell your King I quit, will you?


	2. You could perform for children

"If you're not Orlesian and taking over, go away."

"I love you too, Commander."

"Sigrun." Anders sighed and rubbed his face. "I thought you and Oghren were training."

"He's gone to the gate to meet the Orlesians you're so keen on," the casteless Legionnaire was leaning against the doorframe. "Nate's with him, you know, to look poncy. He does that very well doesn't he?"

"I think it's the nose," Anders said, getting up from behind the desk that had never felt right.

Sigrun grinned. "And the legs. They go on forever don't they?"

"It's a human thing."

Sigrun eyed him curiously. "Do yours do the same then? I never get to see under those robes."

Anders blinked. "Sigrun you're either being extremely dirty, which gets my approval by the way, or deliciously naive."

"Pick whichever one makes you like me more." Her eyes were twinkling and he laughed for a second. Sigrun turned to the door.

"Wait a moment," he said. "Are there any mages?"

"With the Orlesians? No. Sorry boss."

_Damn. _"Templars?"

"Also a no, unless they've started with the stealthy types. No, they're just Orlesians. A lot of them. And there's a kid too — cute little tyke."

_At least that's something. _They weren't planning on shipping him to the circle straight away then. "Oh well. Time to hand over power." He made his way to the door, but Sigrun's small, strong hand stopped him.

"Be careful ok? I didn't like the look of them."

He grinned and ruffled her hair, which earned him a swat on the wrist that _stung_. "Of course you didn't. They're _Orlesian."_

Privately, as he made his way through the courtyard to see the contingent who were currently talking with Nathaniel, he had to agree with Sigrun's assessment. The Orlesian wardens were a grim lot, not surprising considering they'd lost a good deal of their brethren with the architect's attack on the Vigil. The woman — Leonie Caron, he'd been told her name was — looked at the damaged walls and remaining rubble disdainfully, arms crossed over her chestplate, severe, lined face disapproving and cold. There was a man next to her with a truly magnificent mustache, and clinging to his leg was a boy of about six. Anders frowned down at the child — it was hardly the place for them, but then he wasn't one to judge. His experiences with children were confined to attempting to control a class of seven year olds in the Tower, a task he'd only achieved by making lightning animals and having them periodically shock the students.

Irving hadn't been too pleased with him for that one.

"Commander Caron," Anders said, holding out a hand for her to shake, which she did so, nearly breaking his bones with the firmness of her grip. "It's truly a pleasure to have you here."

She nodded. "Anders, I presume?"

"Acting Commander, yes," Anders said, twisting his lips.

"It was my understanding that Commander Surana gave you full command of the garrison here," Caron said. Her accent was thick, but not impossible to understand. Anders briefly considered switching to Orlesian to make things easier for her, but changed his mind. No need to give away _all _his talents at their first meeting.

"He tried, yes," Anders said. "But I think he wasn't fully aware of the implications of leaving a former apostate in charge of an Arling," _or just delighted in making my life unpleasant. _"Hence my letter to you and the first warden."

"You show remarkable restraint," Caron said. "Most mages would have taken advantage of their freedom by now."

_Most mages, _he noted. _This could be a problem. _

He didn't point out that being a warden wasn't exactly freedom. And that being in command was pretty much his worst nightmare ever.

"I also understand that Commander Surana had some… _interesting _recruits."

Anders nodded and indicated that they should follow him back into the main hall. "Indeed. Justice is… ah… waiting for us in the main hall. Sigrun, Oghren and Nathaniel you've already met. There was a Dalish Elf, but she disappeared in the attack on the Vigil — she never managed to take the joining, although I know that Alim promised it to her should she want to. I doubt she'll be back, however, she had… other things on her mind before the battle."

"Justice is a possessed corpse?" Caron said.

"Ah… yes. Fade spirit, though. Not a demon. It wasn't his fault he was pulled through the veil after the battle with the…"

Caron waved a hand. "I read the reports, warden."

"He's a good warden. A good man."

"I don't doubt you think so. But I must question the judgement of a mage Commander consorting with fade spirits. We do not forbid blood magic in the order…"

"There was no blood magic involved!" Anders said quickly. "Well, no blood magic from _us _any way. The Baroness…"

"As I already said," Caron stopped just before the entrance to the hall. "We do not forbid blood magic. But it does not mean we approve of it. I wish to speak with this fade spirit. If it seems he is a threat I am afraid he will have to be…"

"Justice is a friend," Anders was surprised to hear Nathaniel's voice. "And he saved Amaranthine from the threat of the Mother. You know that if you have read the reports, Commander Caron."

"You are new to the wardens," Caron said. "All of you are. The situation in Ferelden is unique, and unprecedented. You have all done the best with what you were given, and your efforts are appreciated. But you must acknowledge that power needs to be handled by those of us with experience."

Anders gave Nathaniel a look. "That's why we asked you to come, Commander," he said. She nodded, a small smile gracing her face. It was a nice enough face, really, Anders thought, but she was easily in her forties, and probably close to her Calling. Experience was what they needed here, no matter that some of Loghain's stalwart supporters, Anora included, were aghast at having an Orlesian in command.

They didn't understand. Wardens first. It was always wardens first to these people, something that was making Anders increasingly uncomfortable.

He didn't feel like that. There were so many other things he had to be before he was a warden. Anders, naturally. A mage. A man.

_If only I could be free as well._

"This way, Commander," Nathaniel steered the woman into the hall, the other Orlesians following and Anders shared a glance with Oghren.

"You sure about this, sparklefingers?" the dwarf asked him.

Anders took a deep breath and shook his head. "I've never been sure of anything much, Oghren," he said. "So obviously I'm not the best person to be in charge here."

"I don't know, at least you're Ferelden."

"Says the former warrior caste from Orzammar."

"Hey, Orzammar is in Ferelden, you know."

"Underneath you mean. I don't think it counts."

"I think Alim knew what he was doing when he passed the wardens to you, Anders," Oghren said, suddenly serious. "I think he wanted to protect you. And I think you might have made that a lot more difficult by handing them over to that woman."

Anders swallowed. "Well, I can always run away again if things get bad. My specialty, you know."

"Justice wouldn't like that."

"Maybe Justice can come too."

"Ha! You and the zombie. Like a traveling circus. You could perform for children."

"Frighten them, you mean."

"That too," Oghren sighed and tugged on his beard. "You're all right, for a skirt wearing freak. I don't want to see you dragged off to the templars again."

"Oh, it won't come to that, stink bag. I promise."

The dwarf threw back his head and laughed. "Oghren's got your back, Anders. Just remember that."

"That's surprisingly reassuring. Come on, let's go and explain away our corpse."


	3. It would be hard to get much deader

The chambers they'd given him at the palace were opulent and oppressive, and although Alim was keen to get out of there as soon as was humanly possible, he wasn't going to go until he was sure Zevran was well. He'd stripped the Antivan's leathers from his body, noting new scars and fresh injuries that had him shaking by the time he'd finished. A quick warning to his templar bodyguards that he would have to use healing magic and a long two hours of work later, Zevran had fallen into a deep, peaceful slumber. Alim had washed and changed into more practical clothing, packing his belongings for a trip he suspected he would be making _not _in his official capacity as Ferelden ambassador to Antiva, then sat and waited for Zevran to wake.

"Oh…." the elf in question rolled over on the ridiculous four poster bed. "_Soffio di Dio_, Alim what did you do to me?"

Alim let out a breath, then forced a smile. "Knocked you out. Then healed you. How often did you manage to get those wounds seen to?"

"I did… not."

"At all. Naturally. I'm surprised you could stand up long enough to slit that elf's throat. Seriously."

"Ah… but killing comes naturally. It invigorates the blood, as they say."

"Not of the people you kill."

"That is rather the point of being an assassin, yes." Zevran eyed him. "So you healed me while I was sleeping, yes?"

"Most of what you're suffering from now is exhaustion, you idiot. But yes. There was a slight infection in the wound on your right side, but the others are all all right. They'll scar though."

"Tut. And I do so wish to stay beautiful."

Alim's hands twitched. "Zevran, you're a complete fool."

He smiled. "But you love me anyway, no?"

Alim couldn't help it. He leaned forward and kissed Zevran, and the assassin, after a suitable interval, chuckled against his lips. "I missed you, my warden."

"Not half as much as I missed you, I'm sure," Alim said.

"You underestimate the full horror of Crow interrogations."

"Yeah, well, for me there were broodmothers."

Zevran made a face. "Broodmothers? Like the one…."

"Worse. And there were lots of them. One of them _talked."_

"You are jesting with me."

"I can take you back to Amaranthine and you can interrogate the other wardens, Zevran. Although, not in a… in a _crow_ way, I quite liked them in the end."

"So you found a new group of companions. I suppose you no longer have need of one such as myself."

Alim looked at him. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were deeper, his ribs showed clearly under the caramel skin of his chest. As he had worked on healing the assassin, his fingers had traced new scars and old, together with the whorls of his tattoo, familiar yet strange, too thin, too fragile.

"How many times have I called you an idiot in this conversation? Because I think I'm getting close to the limit."

"One can never be called an idiot too many times amora."

Alim leaned forward and kissed him, hard. Zevran's hand came up and tangled in his hair, pulling it loose from its tie and letting his fingers work down to Alim's neck. "I missed you, you insufferable prat," Alim said, pulling back just far enough so that his lips continued to touch Zevran's. "I wanted to tell the wardens to stuff it and run back here and turn over every stone in Antiva until I found you, and it turns out you were trying to… _what _exactly?"

Zevran's hands slid down Alim's arms to his waist, which he gripped firmly. "Do you really wish to discuss this now?"

"Oh yes."

"I do not."

"Well I'm the one who can send you to sleep again, so why don't you start talking?"

Zevran chuckled, and the sound reverberated through Alim pleasantly. So pleasantly he shut his eyes and smiled, which was, of course, a mistake. Zevran may have been tired and hungry and injured, but he was as lithe and strong as ever, and he deftly flipped Alim onto his back, crouching over him and pinning Alim's hips beneath his own, straddling him and grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear.

Not that Alim had any great problem with being trapped. He just wished he was a little less clothed. "Well now, dear heart," Zevran said, leaning forward and tickling the shell of one of Alim's ears with his breath and his tongue. "I came in search of my former employer…."

"Nuncio?"

Zevran sat back, brow raised in surprise. "How do you know of Nuncio?"

"I interrogated a crow, back at the Vigil."

"And he gave you a _name?"_

Alim started to grin, then looked down at his hand, absently rubbing the scar that was normally covered by a glove, covering it with his other hand so that Zevran could not see it. "I was very persuasive."

Zevran frowned. "Nuncio was not my employer. Nuncio is a… lackey of his. A trained mabari. Nothing more."

"My source said he was the one they had chasing you."

"Did they? Well. No matter. Nuncio will be easy enough to deal with when the time comes."

"So you found him? The one who…" _led you to kill the only woman you'd ever loved._

Zevran nodded. "Well. Let us just say that he found me first. It was not pleasant."

"How did you escape?"

Zevran spread his hands. "My dear warden, you wound me. He did not capture me, merely found me."

"He is dead then?"

"Most certainly. It would be difficult to be much deader."

"Well, that's something."

Zevran smiled and let his hands roam up Alim's torso. "Indeed."

"So why didn't you come and find me after you… dealt with him?" Alim said. "I was hardly making my location a secret."

Zevran's hands paused. "There were contracts against you. Adamo made that much clear before he died. I had to… stop them."

"You didn't manage it," Alim said. "The nobles of Amaranthine hired crows to kill me. That's where I got Nuncio's name from."

Zevran tutted and sat back. "Indeed. I was attempting to discover the exact names of those who continued to take out contracts against you. Imagine my surprise when I found it was not necessarily because of your association with me that they continued to pursue such an unprofitable contract."

Alim smiled. "Not everything is to do with you, Zevran."

"Ah, no. Much as it pains my ego to admit it. There were… others behind these contracts. The nobles in Amaranthine were one such group, but the other was more worrying."

Alim cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? You mean DiCiantis?"

Zevran waved a hand. "Pish. DiCiantis is a fool. A very wealthy one, but a fool nonetheless. He simply dislikes elves. No, the people behind the contract on you are part of the Chantry. I have not been able to discover their exact names, but I do know that the Crows have declined to take any more money from them. Obviously they believe the Chantry is being over-zealous."

"I thought Antivans were very devout?"

"Right up until the point where our lives are threatened."

"Not big on spending eternity at the side of the maker?"

"Not if we can spend many decades at the side of something more pleasurable," Zevran leaned forward until his lips were an inch from Alim's. Alim, who knew this game (and was relishing learning all the moves again) simply smirked at him, placing his palms on the small of Zevran's back and sending a bolt of healing energy through them.

Zevran fought it for a few seconds, before leaning back and gasping in pleasure. "Ah, amora. I have missed you."

"Missed _me, _or just _this?" _

"Oh, both, Alim. _Both."_

They didn't talk much after that.


End file.
